


Silent Night

by Lasgalendil



Series: Starlight and Song [7]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Declarations Of Love, Dwarf/Elf Relationship(s), Dwarves, Elves, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Hair Brushing, Interspecies, Interspecies Relationship(s), Interspecies Romance, Interspecies Sex, It's Not Smut If It's Character Building, M/M, Miscommunication, One True Pairing, Romance, Sindarin, Stubborn Dwarves, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-03-01 01:45:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2754971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lasgalendil/pseuds/Lasgalendil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elf loves Dwarf.<br/>Dwarf loves Elf.</p><p>…the ears of Edoras may never be the same again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silent Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [telemachus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/telemachus/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Just Maybe](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1120663) by [telemachus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/telemachus/pseuds/telemachus). 



“Fucking Mahal, Legolas!” I hiss to the Elf beneath me. “Could you be any louder? There may be some left in Harad who have yet not heard you!”

He only whimpers. And clings. And screams.

…bloody hell, he screams. Not that I don’t mind the compliment, mind you, but I’m not certain how the assembled emissaries of the King are going to take it.

[It’s not as if Elf keeps secret who’s shagging him. In morning everyone in Westfold will know my name. At least Éomer’s poor bride will have some privacy…]

“Shh! Elf! Bite the grass or something—“

(As if Elf is listening.)

So much for articulate word smiths. Elf is all groans and gasping and pants. At least there’s no bloody singing—that happens after. He will sing, and cuddle, and cry (bloody weird Elves) and fuss with my beard, and within the hour he’ll be waking me for more. He’ll be up and dancing by daybreak as if the night had never happened and I?

…It’ll be past noon before Gimli Glóin’s son can bloody walk.

Bloody, tireless Elf.

Sodding, sex-addicted Elf.

Pretty Elf.

Exhausting Elf.

Quite fuckable Elf.

_“A—A—Elbereth!—Gimli—melethron-nîn—hathod-nîn—A, Gil-cefn—“_

_“—elo! elo! Glais, glais—“_

_“A, Gimli, Gimli, Gimli!”_

…Largely incoherent Elf. Forgets. Have fucked his brains out. Doesn’t know he’s speaking his bloody Sindarin. But I think—and I indeed doubt if I may be wrong—from the clinging and cries and the tightly wrapped limbs around me as he comes what he says is “More please, thank you.”

…At least that’s how we Dwarves might say it.

As for Elves?

Bloody weird Elves (panting, thrashing, gasping, bucking, biting, licking, clever, delicious, rather flexible Elves…). Exhausting and confusing creatures, the lot of ‘em.

Still, wouldn’t trade pretty, preening Elf for anything. Keep your bloody Mountain and sodding Arkenstone, Thorin, I have a living gem that is my delight.

What is this? Poetry? Fuck me. [Not that Elf would really know how. Elf in throes of ecstasy after too much kissing. Elf comes if you pet hair, twist ears hard enough. Hardly have finished in his mouth before he’s screaming and clinging and pleading against me. Bloody weird Elves, cock-teasing Elves. Eager to please, finishes quickly, more flexible than any Dwarf, lets self be fucked or will suck for hours. Squeals and screams and sighs like a maid the first time. Every time. Pretty mouth. Such sweet taste. Tight, hot, hairless arse. Not sure if should feel pride or shame for taking him—son of Thranduil who imprisoned Thorin, imprisoned my father—for taking him so roughly, for taking such _advantage_. Either worst or best bedmate. Maybe both. Can’t decide.]

…Terrible Dwarf. Horrible Dwarf. Feud centuries old, still thinking revenge while your own Fucking Elf heaving beneath you.

[Naked Elf. Pretty Elf. Such wonderful, fuckable, fuckable Elf. Hold hair. Twist tightly (He gasps.). Have better things to think on.]

I press myself into him harder, and he knows—wicked, clever creature! How can he know?—how to brace himself back against me, whimpering, whining, wanting me deeper, deeper inside him.

Naked Elf. Pretty Elf. Sweaty, glistening, perfect, fuckable Elf (And screaming. Always screaming. You would think—if you knew no better—that your fucking were wounding him, killing him…)

[…But you do know better. You know it is.]

 

Mahal’s beard, surely I am for the Void for this. For kissing him. For killing him. If the first were not unforgivable, then surely, surely the second still damns me. Pretty Elf. Lovely Elf. Simple, Innocent, Lost little Elf. He doesn't deserve this. I am damned, damned for loving him…as I would be damned for leaving him. So I fuck him. I kiss him. I kill him.

[He will, he must be forgiven. Him they must hold blameless in this. Let him pass over the fucking Sea. Find peace. Love. Rest. He is an Elf. In time he will heal.]

[Not Elf. Not anymore. Elves don't fuck. Don't love. Not Dwarves. Never heal. Always hurt. Damn. You did this. You.]

Ah, well. Suppose it beats an eternity of Ki and Fi teasing, calling me “Elf-fucker” (had enough of that already). But I’ll miss them, miss the daft, sodding creature.

The pretty, silly creature.

…the poor, lonely creature. It breaks my heart. So I’ll hold him. Fuck him. Now, while I have the chance.

 “ _Glais, glais—“_ he pleads.

“Again? Already?” I ask as Elf nestles against me, trembling, tugging my beard like a small child. His eyes are bright, teary, full of—not lust, but…need? “Alright, alright,” Again I roll him under me, press his pretty head down into the rustling grass (already he is moaning, gasping, grinding up against me). “Anything for you,  Elf. But please, Elf—and this Dwarf mean no offense—quietly!”

I enter. Elf lets out a shriek. Poor horse takes off at a run. Poor Arod. Poor Edoras. So much for quietly.

[…and that was just with fingers. Tongue or cock will rouse gulls from shore, Hobbits from beds in Shire.]

I lick him, make him wet and ready. Push myself inside him.

[Poor hobbits. Poor gulls. Poor Gimli’s ears.]

Bloody Mahal, Legolas. Where did your bloody virgin ears and eyes (and arse) learn to fuck like this?

...His Elbereth must be going fucking deaf from all his impassioned pleas.

Fucking Elf.

I fuck him. Fuck him hard. Fuck him until he screams nothing but my name, and keep fucking him until he can remember no words at all just meaningless cries of pleasure and longing, curling fistfuls of grass in his unfurled fingers. Arching back, grasping toes, eyes clenched shut. I fuck him rough, vigorous, violently now—screaming be damned, the assembled Lords of Gondor, Arnor, Ithilien, Dol Amroth, and Rohan can (I would say suck me, but that is Elf’s task now. Bloody Elf would be distraught.)—while I can, while he still wants me. Because soon--too soon!-- there will be a time when I will be old and grey, too wearied and fragile and ugly to pleasure him.

...My poor Elf.

Poor, fucking, lonely Elf.

Fucking Elf.

Just… _Elf_.

...

I come. I think—I might?—say his name. Then gently, slowly, caressing hips all the while, I pull myself out from him. Let him sink softly into the ruined grass, sobbing and still.

I am Dwarf. He is Elf. Dwarves like to fuck. And Elves? Mahal only knows what Elves want. But he seems to—no, he _does_ —he enjoys cuddling, not conquest. Quietness. Combing of hair. Before. After. Always.

So I cuddle him (bloody difficult—all limp and lolling, long limbs everywhere. Elf natural at fucking. Fails at cuddling. Bloody, fucking, ridiculous Elf.), and kiss him. Touch his blushing ears, comb out his hair with my fingers like I know he wants me to. He shudders. Sighs. Stirs. I don’t say, “I love you, Legolas.” I don’t say, “I cherish you.” I don’t say, “You are mine, and I am yours, my One, my Only.”

He is an Elf. I, a Dwarf. I may love him, love him dearly, fuck him out under his bloody stars and thrice-damned trees for all his Valar to see, but I still have my pride.

He knows, I tell myself.

He knows.

…He must.

* * *

I say, “I love you.” You order me to be silent.

I say, “I need you.” You force me on my knees.

[I do—I will--have done--everything—everything you ever ask. Do I--do I not please you--my love--my everything?.]

“You are my delight," I say. "My everything.” You push me on my face.

“Do you love me?” I ask. “Do you love me?” You shove yourself inside.

“I love you,” I cry out. “I love you.” I wish you only to hear, the world to hear--to know--Oh, that I love you so--

Yet you tell me to be still.

Later I sing. Cling to you as you snore.  _I love you,_ I sing. _I love you, my--my Love, my Dwarf, my Earthenstar. Your beard and your stench and your secrets and even your...your fucking. Even when it scares me so._ _Please love me, Love. Just—love me._

…He knows. My Gimli knows. He must.

**Author's Note:**

> “O! Elbereth! O, Gimli, my love, my dwarf, Earthenstar—“  
> “Oh! Oh! Please, please*—“  
> “O, Gimli, Gimli, Gimli!”  
> “Please, please*—“
> 
> *Literally “joys”. 'Saes' is a Grelvish word which is often found in Tolkien fanon, and even though it’s not correct in a Tolkien-based fic I love the sound of it. Glais (Legolas would pronounce Grelvish ‘saes’ as ‘sais’ or ‘sês’ anyways given his Sylvanized dialect) it is!


End file.
